


The Influence of a Parent and the Impact of a Child

by SilverEyesAndFallingSnow



Category: Gintama
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Multi, Utsuro as a Teacher, young gintoki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 23:54:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20984519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverEyesAndFallingSnow/pseuds/SilverEyesAndFallingSnow
Summary: A man walks up to a boy in a field of bodies, "I came after hearing about a corpse eating demon… Would that be you?" The boy decides to follow the man, for better or worse.  The man is Utsuro, the boy Gintoki. A meeting that will change each others lives forever.





	The Influence of a Parent and the Impact of a Child

**Author's Note:**

> What does it mean for Gintoki to be taken in by Utsuro?

It’s overcast. Has been for days. Its for the best, sun and rain are equally destructive to the field of dead bodies around him. Because of the slightly cold weather he has been able to stay in this particular area longer than normal. Its not great, salvaging the dead for food and other supplies, but better a fresh body and stale onigiri, then rotting ones (bodies and rice).

The wind blows and the boy shivers. Without the sun, he can feel the turn of the seasons in the air. It will be cold soon, which means less battles and less food. He remembers the previous cold time, how he was forced to try his luck at villages for food. It doesn’t bring back any good memories. He’s learned that its far more frightening facing the angry shouts and glares of the living, then the silence and glassy stares of the dead. 

He isn’t sure why people hate him. Once, out of curiosity he stuck around a village despite the yelling and rock throwing. He just wanted to ask them why they shouted and seemed so angry but afraid. But when he didn’t leave, everyone disappeared into their homes and wouldn’t come out. He left and thought about it. About the words and names they called him. The same ones every village called him.

Grabbing a sword from one of the many corpses around him, he unsheathed it partially. The blade was grimy, but he could still see his reflection. He had thought himself human like the people around him, he had the same shape and general features as the bodies around him and those in the villages (even if the colors seemed a little off). He had thought he belonged with the other humans. But the villagers never called him a human, and honestly he didn’t know where he came from.

Perhaps he was something else after all. They called him a demon. Perhaps they were right. The battlefields turned graveyards seemed the right place to be the home of demons. Perhaps he didn’t have a place with the living, only the dead. 

The cawing of crows shook him out of his daydreaming. He had always liked the large black birds. They were smart, and he had learned a lot about what was and wasn’t edible by watching them. Plus they served as a signal of sorts. He knew better than to go near an active battle. But sometimes it was hard to tell if a fight was over or if it was just a lull. But the crows never started their scavenging until things truly quieted down.

Granted fighting over scraps of food could turn messy at times. But he didn’t mind that much, crows were the only living creatures that would actually stay around him. They were tricksters but he enjoyed their company all the same.

However, the crows were making more rucks than normal. That usually only happened when someone was approaching. He gripped his sword tighter. The only ones who came out here were soldiers. Sometimes he could make them leave him be if he glared hard enough, made himself look threatening enough. Sometimes they would attack, and it was only his sure footing around the dead that let him escape. He had learned early on how to tell the difference. He could read it in their eyes, feel it in his chest.

The man approaching now didn’t look like a soldier. He did carry a sword, black with a strange guard. But he wore simple clothing that lacked armor. The long hair, soft smile and closed eyes gave the man a serene look.

Despite the calm look, something didn’t feel right about the stranger. Slowly, the boy rose from his temporary seat on the dead and drew his sword. He couldn’t get a good read on the person before him. Usually he could feel something from a living person, some sense of them. But this man, he wasn’t empty or hollow, but more like a void, a vacuum. It made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He wanted to turn and flee, but at the same time his instincts screamed at him to not turn his back on something so dangerous.

Unable to back down, unable to even move, the boy glared at the man. Even as the man opened his eyes, and stared back with eyes that seemed so old, so empty, as if they had seen a million deaths and never once looked away. Even as the man set his hand on the hilt of his sword and radiated a murderous intent stronger than anything the boy had ever felt before, strong enough that only his locked knees kept him standing. Even as the man took a step forward, then another, until he was within striking distance of the boy.

Despite it all, despite knowing death was before him, the boy didn’t stop glaring. He had been surrounded by death all his life. He slept with the dead, ate from the dead, lived with the dead. Sometimes he wondered if he had been born from the dead. He wouldn’t back down from death, not when it was what had kept him alive all this time. In some ways it was only fair that death had come back to ask for repayment. Surely the man before him was a representative of death, there was nothing human feeling about him.

Time was strange, the boy couldn’t decide if was frozen or rushing by. As he stared death in the eye, still holding a sword in an empty challenge, he didn’t know if seconds or years passed. It didn’t matter because the boy knew time and death had a strange relationship and did as they pleased in the presence of one other.

Despite the burning in his arms from holding a sword too big for him too long, he wasn’t the one to break the stillness. Instead the man was the one to move first, instead of drawing his sword, he released his grip and suddenly the crushing weight of the killing intent was gone.

The boy sucked in air, not realizing he had been holding his breath. He could feel his body shaking from a potent mix of adrenaline and exhaustion. He willed himself to remain standing, remain on guard, not breaking eye contact. He knew it was pointless, that this creature (not human, not possibly human), could kill him in a second if he pleased. But still he stood, and glared, and some tiny spark of curiosity grew as he waited to see what the person would do.

The man approached slowly, yet the boy didn’t draw his blade, sensing that if he did, the man would strike him down in a heartbeat. The boy watched as the man raised his hand. Tensed, but remained still as the hand came towards his head. He didn’t flinch as the hand touched his hair, but his glare was replaced with a confused frown as the hand ruffled his hair in a way that reminded him of the villagers and their dogs. It was strange, yet… nice.

Hyper focused on the hand, the boy did jump a little when the man spoke, his voice far softer than expected, “I came after hearing about a corpse eating demon… Would that be you?”

The boy didn’t reply, and the man removed his hand. A small smile formed on the man’s face as he continued speaking, “you’re rather cute for a demon.”

Confusion washed over the boy. The villagers called him a demon often, but no one called him cute. And the man’s smile, at first glance seemed kind, but the longer the boy looked, the more the smile seemed taunting, threatening. The boy gripped his sword tighter, now that the immediate threat of death was gone for the time being, nervousness was filling him. What did this man want?

Glancing at the sword the boy held, the man continued speaking, “Did you also take that from a corpse? A single child stripping corpses to protect himself, is it? That’s very impressive.”

The man shook his head, an almost found looking passing over his face, until suddenly the smile dropped, “However, you no longer need that sword. A sword that’s only swung in self-defense, while fearing others, should be thrown away.”

At this the boy truly startled, hearing the latent threat under the man’s words. He didn’t know why they decided to talk to him first, but as they reached once more for the blade at their hip, the boy waited for the inevitable.

It was a true shock to the boy when the man instead tossed the blade to him, sheath and all. “I shall give you my sword. If you wish to learn how to properly use it… Then come with me.”

And with that, the man started to walk away. With those piercing eyes gone, the last of the adrenaline left the boy. He stood there, staring at the strange black blade in his hands, contemplating his next move. He couldn’t forget the monstrous feeling of the man’s killing intent focused on him. There was something inhuman about that man, something incredible dangerous. Yet, according to the villagers and soldiers, he wasn’t human either. He had always wondered what he was, if he really was the demon people claimed.

If so, maybe he was more like the man than the villagers. Perhaps his place was with that man. He lived surrounded by the dead, lived off the dead. It wasn’t so hard to see himself now traveling with death personified. Mind made up, the boy began to run to catch up with the man. As he ran, he thought about the eyes that had stared him down. How they were red, just like his own. 

– – –

They make camp that night as the sun starts to set. The boy’s feet were sore, and his arms were stiff from holding a large sword for hours. But he had kept quiet and forced himself to keep up with the man. Even so, he practically collapsed when the man finally stopped.

They had settled at small traveler’s rest, nothing more than four poles and a roof with a pit in the ground for a fire. Still it was more than enough considering the mild if slightly chilly weather. The man sat down, settling against one of the poles.

The man was still long enough for the boy to wonder if he had gone to sleep when he finally broke the silence “If you wish for a fire, you should gather some wood before the sun sets.”

The boy shrugged indifferently. He had salvaged a flint kit from one of the soldiers when the weather turned cold last time. However, it wasn’t that cold yet and he wasn’t one hundred percent sure he could get up now that they had finally stopped. His legs were dangerously wobbly feeling.

So they sat, the man against a pole and the boy curled on the ground across the fire pit. The sun set quickly but the moon was nearly full and lit up the landscape in its pale glow. Despite being physically drained, the boy couldn’t fall asleep. He wasn’t used to resting with some one alive so near. Every time he closed his eyes, it felt like ants were crawling up his spine. It didn’t help that even with most of the murderous intent he had felt before gone, the man still radiated something dark that set off his fight or flight instincts. 

Time passed, the boy tossed and turned, and the moon continued to rise in the night sky. Just when sleep was finally starting to overtake the boy, and the moon was reaching the top of its path, the man spoke one more.

“Are you falling asleep?” he asked with a curious tone, one eye slightly open and watching the boy.

Said boy was not impressed with this question considering he had just been on the verge of sleep. He leveled a glare at the man in response, not caring about how dangerous he was at the moment.

Luckily this response just earned a small grin from the man in question before he continued speaking, “Most can’t rest with me near by so quickly. Only a few hours when most take months. Do you hold little value for your life perhaps? Or maybe foolishly brave? Something else? Tell me my cute little demon, what is your name?”

The boy continued to glare, but the man just stared back with seemingly infinite patience, waiting for a response. Realizing the man wasn’t going to take silence as a response this time, the boy spoke up for the first time.

His voice was scratchy from disuse and sleepiness alike, but he responded slowly and precise, “I don’t have one.”

At this admission, the man seemed to think for a moment before replying “That won’t do. Names can help define us, shape us. They are a first impression, and our actions are attached to them, good and bad. Think about what things you want attached to your name, and what things you want to avoid. Not only for what others will think of you, but more importantly so that you stay true to who you want to be.”

The boy just stared as the man spoke. Most of it was lost on him but understood that he needed a name. Trouble was he didn’t have a clue what his name should be. He had never even thought about it before.

The man continued after seeing the lost look on the boy’s face, “With the moon shinning so bright out, I think ‘Gintoki’ would be appropriate.”

The boy thought about it for a moment. ‘Silver Time’ was a good description of there surroundings. Something about it felt right to him, appropriate as the man had said. Nodding the boy, now Gintoki showed his agreement with a small smile.

“Very well Gintoki, you can sleep now. I look forward to seeing what you will do with your new name and see who you will become.” With that the man closed his eyes again.

Feeling more comfortable with the man after their conversation, the boy decided to answer the first question the man asked. He had thought about it a lot as he was trying to fall asleep. At first, he didn’t think he could fall asleep with the man so close. But slowly Gintoki had realized that the man felt familiar in a way. It was this that let him relax enough to sleep.

“I can sleep because you remind me of the feeling of being in a battlefield. The feeling of emptiness that comes from hundreds of dead bodies. It’s what I’m used to sleeping by” and with that he closed he eyes, fully intending to finally get some sleep.

This earned a soft chuckle from the man, “You are quite perceptive, shockingly so. My name is Utsuro, although since I will be teaching you, you can also call me Sensei.”

Gintoki huffed in acknowledgement but didn’t reply verbally. He quickly fell asleep, his last thought being how Utsuro was a fitting name for this being he had met. 

**Author's Note:**

> I just had this in my head and wanted to do something for Gintoki's birthday. I hope to do more with it, look at more of his life. On a side note, I listened to the Gintama openings and endings all day at work today (October 10th) and it was great. Nothing like doing people's tax returns while rocking out to Gintama.


End file.
